


Hand On

by Niler



Series: Common Ground [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>May not be necessary, but just in case...this is set (and written) circa April/May 2014 during the South American leg of the WWA tour.</p><p>The point about this series is that it was written in 'real time' to reflect the events as they happened.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Hand On

**Author's Note:**

> May not be necessary, but just in case...this is set (and written) circa April/May 2014 during the South American leg of the WWA tour.
> 
> The point about this series is that it was written in 'real time' to reflect the events as they happened.

 

Hand On

 

 

 

Liam doesn't even seem to know he does it; he does it every single time and Zayn knows that he has no awareness of it at all.

Sometimes he gets so up in his head, in his own sense of being responsible for the whole damn world that he fails to recognise when people are trying to reach him.  They've discussed this a million times over and agree on it one minute, only to have him anxious and tight-lipped and resolved – to suffer – the next.

It's infuriating because it turns Zayn inside out to see Liam hurting this way, because he will not allow Zayn to take on any of that hurt himself, to shoulder the burden – not voluntarily, not without a fight, not without forcing Zayn to take him by the hands, look into his eyes and plead with him to let it go.

He recognises that he's partly responsible this time, that his reaction to their 'proposal' is what set Liam off, making it  unacceptable, but since he's in a position where he has no choice _but_ to accept,  ends up feeling so raw and angry about it that there is simply no way he can cope.

He knows Liam's like a sponge when it comes to picking up his moods, and he should have tried to hold it down, but he couldn't, not when Liam was being so damn _passive_ about everything.

Yes, he acted out and he's sorry, now, especially now he sees how badly it's impacted him.

Liam hates her too, of course, but it's Zayn he's concerned about; Zayn whose sensibilities he's holding paramount; allowing to influence his mood right now.

And he simply _isn't_ coping.

 

 

**

 

Harry's the only one in the room they're using as a common room.  He's  relaxed and happy, the new hairstyle making him look almost like a different person.  “I like that t-shirt,” he announces in his typical 'this is a non sequitur, deal with it' way.

“It's Liam's.”

Harry looks into his eyes and smiles.

Zayn ignores him, not really in the mood for the teases he and Liam have been getting ever since it became obvious to everyone they liked each other.  Harry would tease him about that, too, of course, for calling it that rather than ‘fancying the pants off each other’.  Not like Louis, whose edge and sense of humour is as sharp as his voice.  Harry's edge is like _his_ voice – slow, melodious, kinda warm and comfortable – and his teases _include_ rather than exclude.

Though Zayn understands the attraction between him and Louis, he has never believed it's destined to last the course.  

Liam doesn't understand it, has never understood it, but then Zayn isn’t sure Liam totally understands sexual attraction in and of itself, definitely doesn't understand casual sex.  For him sex is _important_ , not something you partake of in the same way you'd eat food or take a bath.  He doesn’t believe in _acting_ on sexual attraction; doesn’t believe that you eat a chocolate just because it's there and you can (this suits Zayn, of course, since he doesn't really _like_ sharing his chocolate, and knows at least that it'll be safe when Liam's around).

“Where's everybody?”

Harry's eyes are changeable, but always fascinatingly direct.  Today their green is muted, as is the expression within.  “Niall's off to the 'office', Louis' practising.”

Zayn nods to himself, picks up a magazine (Spanish language with a good-looking guy on the cover.  His hair is blonde, but his looks say there's nothing but hot Latin in his veins).  “Nervous?”  he asks casually, knowing that 'casual' never eludes Harry.  He might not say anything, but it never goes over his head.  Harry is, after all, very _good_ at subtle.

“A bit, yeah.  You?”

He shrugs, hoping that will say all that needs to be said.  They all know how he feels about this; about its impact on Liam. 

“Want a hug?”

Zayn looks at him, not quite sure what he's feeling, but when he sees the smile playing at the corner of Harry's mouth, smiles himself, puts down the mag and allows himself the indulgence of a Harry hug.

Because there is nothing quite like a Harry hug.

 

 

**

 

Liam is so prickly; avoiding him, doing all he can to not talk about anything.

After a very short while it gets on his nerves and he decides to _be_ avoided, to be relegated to something Liam would rather not engage.

When Liam's in this headspace you just let him get on with it.

He is quite possibly the most stubborn person Zayn has ever known.

When he decides a thing, and _really_ decides it, there is absolutely no moving him.  He'll look at you, gaze at you with his eyes all brown and soft and beautiful, and absolutely refuse to budge – you can see it clearly in the _way_ he looks at you, very much saying without saying; 'you are wasting your time, but by all means keep beating your head against that brick wall.  Won't make a blind bit of difference to _me_.'

And the thing is, because you know him, know how much influence you have on him, you do keep banging your head against that wall – until it finally dawns on you that it's one of _those_ moments, and you'll end up with a bloody pulp atop your shoulders before this wanker will change his mind!

So Liam kindly lets you _know_ when it's one of those moments by the expression in his eyes.

Of course Zayn still tries, because that's just what you do.

He has yet to recall a time when he ever managed to talk Liam down from one of those moments, however.

He idly wonders whether being his husband – ring and papers and everything - will give him any kind of leverage in the future.

Probably not.

 

 

**

 

Zayn isn't that keen on being set in between Louis and harry.  He'd told them firmly at the height of their problems that it wasn't fair to expect him – any of them for that matter – to take sides. 

They're in an impossible situation, almost incestuous, and there just _has_ to be ground rules otherwise it'd all fall apart.

One of the rules, surely, should be to stay out of each other's love affairs.  Even when Harry was sleeping with other guys and wanted to confide in him Zayn felt uncomfortable about it since he was pretty much cheek by jowl with a Louis at the time; Louis who was jealous as hell and spitting mad at Harry’s spite.

And that's the thing, though – he had his own opinion about the entire situation, not just Harry’s 'transgressions', but the entire thing.

Louis was his mate so it was _hard_ to remind him that he'd been sleeping around too, remind him that it had been _his_ idea for them not to be exclusive.  Far as he was concerned if you didn't have a jealous bone in your bod then by all means go ahead and let your man fuck other guys – no skin off your nose, maybe you might even get a kick out of it.  Otherwise, keep your man at your side; sweet and well fucked –  away from the predatory gaze of other fucking guys!  Simple things!

And then of course they come whining to you when they get jealous and worry that he's 'gonna fall for someone else'.

There was only so much sympathy he could extend to them – Louis – because, though he'd supported him when he'd said he thought it was the best solution (Harry needed a fucking leash; that had been clear from day 1!) he had quietly scoffed to himself, wondering how the fuck Louis could possibly believe it would work out.

And okay, it wasn't exactly mates to have accepted Harry’s overtures, but they hadn’t been exclusive, and _he_ hadn’t been grown up enough to know that just because someone _said_ a thing that didn’t mean they actually meant it! He should have turned him away – Louis too – but at the time, as a 17 year old kid brimming with hormones and the headiness of being given _permission_ to explore his sexuality it had been like being set down in a candy store and he _hadn’t_   been like Liam – had decided that if the chocolate was just sitting there begging to be eaten you damn well ate it!

If he had the chance to do it all again he wouldn’t have done it that way, really wouldn't, suspected the same could be said of Louis and Harry, too.

Thing about Harry, though, was that he had a roving eye and being tied down at an early age would have been disastrous long term.

He was a marshmallow; one of those guys in love with love, but he was very demanding sexually and quite simply needed an outlet – many of them, if they were being perfectly frank.   Being in a committed relationship so young wouldn’t have served him at all.

Louis, having seen the way he was – with other guys – decided that there’d be no way to have an exclusive relationship without Harry being tempted to stray, thus putting it under unbearable stress, so decided to make them non-exclusive.

And that had most certainly come back to bite him in the arse.

Not that it would have worked out anyway: the attraction was there, the love too, but they were incompatible in a way he and Liam were not.

He and Liam, despite their differences, wholly complemented the other, where, more often than not, Louis and Harry's differences repelled each other.

For a time he'd believed that they'd never again be friends, never again be able to sleep together the way they'd done before Harry broke them up, but Louis' grown  since then, re-organised his priorities, actually allowing Harry his freedom the way he'd always claimed to be doing but had found impossible to without bleeding from every pore when Harry was with other guys.

He doesn't think they'll ever be exclusive, never be like him and Liam who have been exclusive from day 1, but he's happy that Louis' happy.

Harry's always been the tough one, the one who can roll with the punches, and he's the one who's always held Louis' balls in his fist, able to hurt with the mere _threat_ of walking.

Louis' never had that at his disposal: everyone knows he isn't capable of walking away from Harry, but Zayn thinks he sees a new toughness in him, the acceptance of the fact that he is merely borrowing Harry, that he should simply enjoy their time together and not stress about the future; about whether or not Harry will ever truly be his.

Zayn knows that of all of them Harry’s the one who can wield a knife like an assassin in the night; a surgeon, ruthless and clinical gaze hidden under the blindfold donned to showcase his skill.

He can remove your liver, spleen and heart in a breath – and you'd _never_ see it coming.

Zayn doesn't even find it amusing that most people have no clue who Harry really is.

 

 

**

 

“Hi, babe.  How ya doing?”

Oh so he's talking now, is he?

“Not so good.  Didn't enjoy it tonight.”

He looks guilty, reaches for him.  “I know, and I’m sorry for being a wanker the last few days.  I thought I could handle it, but it was a bit more on top than I was expecting.  Sorry, babe.”  Liam pulls him close, enfolds him in his arms, kisses him on the mouth.

The thing about Liam is that he doesn't even have to try, _never_ has to try, yet he does anyway, always, always - never takes him for granted.

He has no idea that this is one of the reasons Zayn loves him, and wouldn't understand it if he did.

He simply doesn't understand the concept of _not_ trying, of being lazy and _expectant;_ of imagining that you'll keep what you have just because you have it.

Zayn knows that whilst they're together Liam will never _stop_ trying, and this is a surety he suspects most people never really have in their partners.

He imagines that getting a ring on his finger will only make him try all the  harder.

“How _you_ holding up?”  There's something about the way Liam holds him that's quite simply _addictive_.  Familiar, yet reverent somehow, comforting and yet with that thrilling pulse of desire that characterises all their touches – even the simplest and seemingly innocuous.

One thing that astonished him about being attracted to, in love with Liam was the way touching him never failed to set his nerve endings ablaze

Every time Liam walks into the room his heart flips and flops, and he still cannot really believe they have that affect on each other.

But this is not something they'll ever let go, ever allow to be tainted by all the shit around them, thrown at them on a daily basis.

To be in love with him; to feel that, live with that daily is something he'll fight tooth and nail to keep experiencing - forever.

“Better,” Liam assures softly, kissing him again.  “Can't wait for Buenos Aires.”

Zayn chuckles, a teasing finger placed against his mouth.  “Say that again.”

“Buenos Aires.”

Zayn laughs, then giggles as Liam 'punishes' him for making fun of his accent...

 

 

**

 

“Azzi.”

“What?”  He's trying to look receptive, interested, but he can tell that Louis wants to talk Harry and he really isn't in the mood.

“I saw those 'hickeys'.”  He accompanies the air quotes with what he always claims is an authentic Californian drawl, and Zayn only just prevents himself from telling him to just get on with it.

He really hasn't got time for games, would rather just get to the point, so they can be done with it.   “They'll be covered up, don't worry.”

Louis' gaze travels to his neck, upper chest.  Clearly he wants to say something – reminisce – about the way he and Harry like to mark each other, but  the fact is he's seen Harry's mark on others now, which makes it a fairly touchy subject.

That’s the thing about Louis, though – he has a lot of vulnerable spots, but hates to admit that, so ends up getting hurt more often than he would if he'd only admit to them.  “You holding up okay?”

He puts an arm around him and Zayn leans into the embrace for a moment.  There’s a soft side to Louis he rarely reveals in public – both compassionate and somehow vulnerable; more vulnerable than a person has any right to be – and it makes Zayn sad to see him hurt, especially when he goes out of his way to cover up, pretend he's tough as nails.

Harry never pretends a damn thing: confident, self-assured; better than anyone he knows at putting everyone and everything in its proper place, he has ways of dealing with things that astonish Zayn on a daily basis.

He doesn't cover up at all – except of course he does; because the truth is people don't really know him. 

He's so good at _coping_ that people honestly believe that they are _getting_ what they're seeing.

And that _is_ the thing about Harry's game – the fact that it's so good, so perfectly _seamless_ that there's no way you can tell everything’s hidden away behind  a mask.

But then, they've all learned to do that. 

They've had psychologists lecturing them, strategists and performers advising them.  By now they're _all_ wearing masks, and for the most part not even feeling the joins these days, hardly aware that they've started regarding the secondary skin as possibly more than it was ever meant to be.

“Doing better, but it's getting tough.”  He isn't afraid to admit that to Louis, Louis who's seen him at his most raw and vulnerable – not only over Liam, but all the rest of it too, the parts he isn't sure the others truly have the capacity to understand.  With each other they can drop the masks, ditch the games, just be who they really are, even when that means showing the worst side of yourself, the parts you don't want to admit exist.

He's open with Liam, but he loves him, so doesn't really want to see him upset by seeing _him_ upset, so there are some things he won't share with him, where he'll seek out Louis instead.

And of course he fulfils the same function in Louis' life.

He knows that for all that he and Liam are close Louis definitely doesn’t show his true self to him.

There is just something about Liam, something that makes you want to keep him...unsullied...by the nasty, problematic side of life.  He knows it's ridiculous, but he and Louis have discussed it and he feels the same.  There are simply some people you want to protect; keep clean and clear of all the crap life has in store. 

Liam's one of them.

Doesn’t matter that Liam's as tough as Harry, as willing – more willing – than anyone he knows to do what’s necessary in order to ensure their ultimate success.

It's pretty bloody clear that he can deal with the crap, can even give it back, but no, they'll protect him anyway. 

Just how it is.

Louis doesn't reply, just rubs his back in that way he has, something learned from observing his mum and her way with patients and friends.

“You and Harry doing good?”  Might as well give him an in, only right since he was being a good chum.

Zayn can see in his sudden stillness and the way he's holding his breath that he's considering going for the 'yeah, we're good', or 'it's fine' option, but in the end he shrugs and says.  “Getting there.”  And those two words contain a multitude of things unsaid, but understood, an entire lifetime of compromise, hurt and regret.

Zayn gives him a hug, not needing to say anything, knowing that Louis knows.

He'll never say 'I told you so' of course, but the words are between them anyway, have been for some time.

But what's to be done? Sometimes you find the right person almost immediately, first try, and sometimes it takes a while.  The trick is to know, to understand that the person you _thought_ was going to be yours forever, will _never_ be yours in that way.  But if he's honest he has never believed that Louis ever really felt that way about Harry otherwise he couldn’t possibly have ever allowed him to sleep with other guys.

How did you do that?  How could _he_ possibly sit there watching tv knowing Liam was out somewhere fucking another guy? He'd bloody well been there with Danielle and that had been bad enough, but he and Liam weren't together then, hadn't _slept_ together.

To imagine he could allow that once Liam was his just twists his mind, because _he_ certainly can't imagine it!

And Liam is a very monogamous guy, so Zayn wouldn't really have had to contemplate it ever happening with Liam  (it would be a hell of a stretch for him to do that – even with implicit 'permission').

Harry, on the other hand, was the exact type of guy to whom you simply couldn't give that kind of implicit permission – you simply couldn't, because there was a 100% certainty he'd take you up on it; not just the once for the sake of proving a point, but because he wanted to, _liked_ fucking around.

But of course that had been Louis' backwards logic – let him, so he won't hurt me by cheating as I know he's bound to do: if I _give_ him permission it can't be cheating, and therefore I won't mind.

Well, maybe he'd really believed it at the time, but it hadn’t taken long for him to see that there were nothing but disadvantages to this, the only 'advantage' that he too was free to sleep with whomever he wished.

And it had soon become clear that Louis had, of course, reckoned without his heart; had probably thought that fucking around yet still having what you wanted at home was The Dream.  Yeah, most guys of their age probably thought so too.  Great if it's just a one way street or your partner wasn't the fucking around type and didn't mind that _you_ were, otherwise the arrangement hid claws sharp enough to disembowel anyone foolish enough to take it on.

Never do it if you were in love with the guy! And definitely not if you were easily bruised.

Oh Harry had done his fair share of crying over Louis' straying, but in the end he'd been the one who'd called time – as they all knew it would be.  Louis must have known it too, just hadn't wanted to make himself more vulnerable by making it clear that he was hurting, that the relationship mattered to him, that he wanted to change his mind.  By then Harry was holding all the cards and yes, he had to admit that Louis would have put himself in too vulnerable a position with that admission.

There was absolutely no point saying he'd made a mistake with the non-exclusivity of their relationship: Harry would have never forgiven him.

Harry the marshmallow could hold grudges like no-one else he knew.  

Not even Louis could compete with him on that level.

Zayn sympathised because he loved Louis and hated seeing him hurt, but a part of him could never let go of the 'serves you right' feeling. 

He knew he was being harsh, but wasn't about to shy away from the fact that it was all of it tied up somehow with Liam, with how he felt about Liam, and the outrage he experienced every single time he imagined putting himself  - or Liam - in that same position.

The mere suggestion of being okay with anyone else putting hands on him, of just sitting there supping ale while someone put hands on his man...

His hands become claws, and it's only Louis'  “Azzi, man!” that brings him back to himself, alerts him to the fact that he's got Louis' arm in a painful grip.

“Soz, man.”  A little flustered and embarrassed, he releases him, feinting a punch at his midriff in the hope of distracting him.

Louis' raised eyebrow and smug smile make it clear that he knows Zayn was thinking about Liam, and to forestall any _talk_ of Liam he feints again and pushes forward, not giving Louis any option but to engage him.

Play-fighting, he's found, is a sure-fire way to distract and deflect.

And he's not above using such tools when  and where necessary.

 

**

 

'They' do their usual dance of telling them where they fucked up, implying that they've not kept up their end of the bargain; not adhered to the 'letter of the law'.  But irritating as it is he and Liam aren't as worried by this 'tough' talk as they once would have been.  An agreement is an agreement and they won't break it, despite all the posturing.  It's just a psychological tactic to keep them anxious and ill-at-ease.  At no time will they ever be allowed to feel like they have any level of control, here, but he knows now that they do.  They actually require their agreement; work better with their co-operation, and this gives them a _measure_ of control.  Not as much as he'd like, as Liam would like, but more than they had in the past.

So he knows that they'll get the suite they demanded; that to break that particular agreement would result in open warfare, and the very last thing they're looking to do is expend energy putting out flash fires, losing control by inches.

They'll get the suite.

But what they _will_ do is to find a way to taint the experience somehow.

That's the kind of dirty tactic they have by now perfected and utilise not even as a last resort, rather a pre-emptive strike most of the time.

They’re aware, and despite themselves it does have an impact on their enjoyment of the palatial splendour of the suite; the 'novelty' of being alone together in a room all by themselves – no guards, no friends, just the two of them.

It's not even about making love, just being together – alone, unmolested, able to breathe for a while; breathe him in, breathe in the privilege of being there with him.

Liam's getting better; putting to one side the rubbish they’ve just come through, the rubbish that's on the horizon, but Zayn can see in the depths of his eyes, the slight tremor in his frame as he holds him so, so tightly, that he's not rising above it the way they both want to.

And all he can do is keep his hand on him, fingers stroking the arm wrapped about him and let Liam know that they won't be broken, no matter how close they come, how hard they’re pushed.

They will not be broken.

 

**

 

Louis' in a strange mood, what he and the others privately call the 'Harry's being a dick' mood.  Harry's a dick in several ways, but there's a very specific way that Louis to this day finds impossible to handle.

“Fancy a brew, lad?”  It's pretty clear from the bright of his eyes and the fact that he's practically _capering_ that he's already supped a few ales himself.

Zayn, hesitates: he and Liam are supposed to be meeting up in Tom's room for a 'partay', but Louis rarely asks unless he really needs it, and Zayn is the only one he can turn to in the circumstances...

“Give us a sec, mate.  Gotta tell Payno.”

“Just text him,” he says, a touch of impatience sharpening his tone.

“Give me a sec,”  he repeats, ignoring him.  “Help yourself to ...stuff...”

He calls security and waits, watching Louis indeed help himself to ...stuff.

Louis's good company, but he has this way of getting you involved in stuff that also makes him dangerous company.  He used to know a guy like that back home – Shug – a guy who seemed to attract trouble like a magnet, able to turn a simple meal in a restaurant into a battle between opposing gangs; gangs that no-one had even been aware existed until he came on the scene – and shouted his mouth off.

Zayn's fairly confident that every single conflict that's ever been can be traced back to rolling with guys like Shug – and Louis.

Difference between Louis  and Shug is that Louis doesn't fight – just invites fights to break out around him.

He's rude and unkind, sometimes unnecessarily so, foolishly so, just allowing his impatience with people's slowness and idiocy to get the better of him when he'd be better advised to keep it buttoned.  He's not belligerent in the way Shug is, so he's not as dangerous to be around as Shug, but whenever they roll together Zayn finds himself being a lot more belligerent than he really wants to be.

And at the _time_ you just don't seem to have the capacity to see with clarity, to _see_ that you’re being a massive pillock.

So, rolling with Louis takes careful consideration.

But it _is_ always fun, can't deny that

He's so spontaneous and bold that it's an actual adventure being out on the town – even on the tiles – with him.

It's just that Zayn wants to be with Liam and his friends.  Or rather not let Liam be there with his friend without him.

He and Liam don't have friends in common.  He isn't that crazy about Liam's friends – not that there’s anything wrong with them, he just doesn't like not knowing them inside and out the way he does with Harry, Niall and Louis.  As far as he's concerned they are always on their best behaviour with him, around him, and it's impossible to see what they’re like when he's not there.

Liam isn't like that. 

Zayn's aware that at first he felt a bit out of place around his friends and cousins, but he trusts Zayn and seems to trust his friends completely, so doesn't feel that sense of uncertainty, of watchfulness with them the way Zayn does with _his_ friends.

Liam and Danny are tight as anything, enough at times to make him feel a  little, not jealous exactly, well maybe a little... But he and Anthony don't seem to like each other all that much.  Zayn isn't sure what it is – they get on, seem to get on like a house on fire, but he can just tell that there's something there.  Maybe it's just a chemistry thing.  There were, weren't there, some people with whom the chemistry simply didn't work – couldn't really put your finger on it, especially when you were aware that other people _you_ liked liked them just fine, but the fact is you just didn't... gel.

He doesn’t think Danny's aware of it, and he's only aware because he knows Liam so well, knows Anthony that well, and can see that little something that crosses the expression when someone you don't rate says something everyone else thinks is hilarious and you think is just blah.

But it's impossible for everyone in a group to get on with every other member, his experience with the band is the exception that proves the rule.

So he doesn't see it as an issue and only prays that it never becomes one...

 

**

 

When they send someone to escort him he makes his way to the room they've reserved for Tom and, about to knock, hesitates as he hears the sound of hilarity within.

At first he's quite annoyed, but since he's already admitted to himself that he can't ever resist the sound of Liam's full-blooded laugher for long, he's actually smiling as he knocks, pokes his head round the door.  “They can hear you in New York!” he admonishes, subtly taking in the room. 

Liam's looking hot and mellow, hair all over the place in the way that sets his pulse racing.

“Aw, baby, come in.  What kept you?”  He tries to make his way over to the door, trips over the edge of the bed and just lays there, laughing.

“You are off your face, mate.”

“No, I'm _on_ my face.”  This gives rise to yet another round of hysterics and Zayn looks to Tom for a semblance of sobriety, but nope, no luck, there.

“We got a show tomorrow, don't we?”

“And I will be completely up for it, just come and give papi some sugar first.”

Tom indicates that this is the funniest thing he's heard ever and Zayn rolls his eyes, seriously wondering if  Liam will even _understand_ the content of his message.  Clearly Tom can't be relied on to fulfil the function of emergency back-up copy...

“Me and Louis are gonna go down to the bar for a while.  I'll be back later.  Cool?”

“No, you both come here – to us.  Look, we got...stuff.”  He makes a careless, expansive hand gesture, taking in the...stuff.  “We got it special.  You and Tommo will love it...”

“Maybe, but I got to talk to him first.  Later?”

“Love you, my babyaby.  Love you.”

Embarrassed, he decides it's probably a good idea to leave it there.

And given Liam's drunken and amorous state it might be better not to encourage any potentially embarrassing displays of ardour in front of Tom, so maybe he'll take the risk of simply getting bladdered in Louis' company instead.

He only hoped to god it wasn't going to be a Harry is a dick sobfest.

Otherwise he'd be compelled to get completely off his face too...

 

 

**

 

The familiar weight of Liam's arm on his belly brings him to himself.  Squinting, he peers at the clock on the bedside cabinet.  “You awake?”

“No.”  His voice is rough, deep and Zayn feels the familiar, almost Pavlovian tightening in his groin.  

He's weak though, his head banging, and feeling amorous is a bloody non-starter – not in this state.

Liam's 'awake' alright, but judging by the way he's not moving, absolutely statue still behind him _he_ won't be starting either...

When will they ever get that drinking is a bad, fucking idea – not like they have all the time in the world to enjoy this.  “Gonna get up?”

“No.”  The arm tightens possessively, but Liam's voice is muffled and Zayn doubts he even opened his eyes at any point during the exchange. “And you aren't either.”  He groans. “Stop bloody moving, will you! My fucking head!”

“Mine too. Shit!” He closes his eyes, nestles back into Liam's warmth even though he is hot, way too hot for that, should, if he had any sense at all be moving _away_ from him... “Let's not do that ever a fucking gain!”

“Lightweight,” he mumbles, his voice devoid of any intonation whatsoever.

Zayn sympathies.  “Sleep it off?”

“Fuck yeah.”  And that's said even more tonelessly.

And if he didn't feel like he's about to die he'd find that really funny.

 

 

 

**

 

“No, I'm saying that I think you'd really appreciate it, babe.   _I_ was kinda surprised to be honest.  Wasn't what I was expecting.”

Zayn makes a face.  He likes when Liam gets all philosophical and touched by the mysteries of life, but – a mountain?  Him on top of a fucking mountain?  “Yeah, man, but it's not my kinda thing.”

“Oh, I know, babe, but it's okay.”  He seeks to reassure – persuade? - by pulling him into an embrace, soft graze of lips at his temple.  “I'll keep you safe.”

“Liam, man, you don't understand: you aren't _afraid_ of stuff.  You don't know how it feels.  I know it's daft, but it's just how it is.”

“Hey, hey.” Voice soft and reassuring, devoid of that edge of panic it sometimes has when he thinks Zayn might be getting upset.  “I know, I know.  Just saying that there is no way I'd ever let anything happen to you – even on top of a mountain.  Just never gonna happen.  Promise.” And this is whispered against the side of his face, marked on his skin.

He covers Liam's hands, firm yet gentle on his belly, with his own, leans into him.  “How about Glastonbury instead?” he teases.

Liam snorts, bites him gently on the neck.  “You've been hanging around with harry too much.  Macchu Piccu is is one thing – becoming a new Age guru is another.”

Zayn snorts.  “So no Vatican weekend? No trip to Jerusalem?  No swim in the Ganges?”

“Oh, speaking of which – was looking at a website all about Pakistan.  Zayn, it's a beautiful country-”

“Speaking of which?” he demands, pretending offence.  “The Ganges is in _India_ , mate.”

“I know, I was just reminded, that's all.”

“You're crap at geography.”

“I know, but not when it's something important to you.”

And this effectively shuts him up – as it always does.

The thing, of course, is that Liam never drops these things to impress or score points – he says them because to him they are quite simply true.

“Ang Wat.”

“What?”

“No, Ang Wat.”

“I heard you the first time.  What about it?”

“Wanna go.”

And what's Ang Wat when it's at home.”

“Er...not exactly sure, but the way Harry described it, sounds really...interesting.”

Zayn turns to him, a 'stern' expression on his face.  “That's it.”

“What?”

“The last time you're allowed to spend time with Harry.”

Liam's eyes get wide and innocent.  “Why?”

Zayn turns away without answering, aware that the smile he's endeavouring to keep to himself is communicated to him anyway: Liam's an expert at reading his moods, after all.

 

 

**

 

Harry's always been a bit of a mystery to him.  One minute you’ll think you have him completely sussed only for him to do something to make you think again.

Louis for all his unpredictability is actually very predictable, Niall the same.  It's Liam and Harry who are the hardest to track and chart.

The both of them move to the beat of different but remarkably similar drummers – it's just not obvious to people who don't know them well.

When Liam suggested going to the Mcchu Picchu Zayn was both horrified and unsurprised – Liam, for all his lack of interest in religion, is actually a very spiritual person, just doesn't have any real reference points for it so it was no surprise that he and Harry would connect in that way.

What he likes about Harry is that he takes care of Liam, somehow sees to the heart of him and takes care of it. 

Of all of them Harry is the one he prefers Liam to roll with.  He doesn't trust Louis with Liam in any way: Louis doesn't have the personal qualities he requires in Liam's friends.  Since he knows Louis inside and out, he  can speak with some authority on that subject.

His paranoia about Liam's safety precludes trusting him out and about with Louis, for while Louis adores Liam, he doesn't understand what he needs to be safe, to be safe and comfortable, so Zayn doesn't trust him to be his proxy; do the job _he_ isn't there to do.

He likes that Louis doesn't treat Liam like a fragile piece of precious china, but hates it too.  It feels at times that seeing Louis rough and not careful enough with Liam is a test for him – it's certainly often an ordeal to pretend he doesn't mind.

Louis teases him about the way he treats Liam; complains that Zayn teats him like his girlfriend  (a Victorian consumptive, to Zayn's mind, which has lately been full of Charles Dickens and the Victorian poets) – rather than the Incredible Hulk he actually is.

Well, he couldn't really argue with that, except he wanted to say that if Louis couldn’t see that he was far from being the Hulk in all the ways that matter then he didn't really know him at all.

Except, of course, Louis _does_ know Liam, knows him very well, and  knows that Liam responds well to his careless treatment.  It's just that Zayn's aware that Louis' not doing it because he's trying to help Liam, but simply because that's just the way Louis rolls.

But really, that's just him trying to control every single aspect of Liam's life and friendships – and he knows already that that's just not on.

Louis loves Liam, would kill anyone who tried to step to him, will defend him to hell and back.

And that, in the end, is all that matters.

He has to keep trying his very best not to control every potentially problematic aspect of Liam's life.

Something his mum said a little while back comes to mind: that no-one ever talked about the hardest part of being a parent – relinquishing that control; _allowing_ them to get hurt, even when your impulse is to keep them locked up in a room somewhere, safe from harm, safe even from emotional hurt.  She said it never really left you, that feeling, and was something you simply had to learn to do – with grace.

And no, he knows it will never leave him either, not so long as he and Liam are living, breathing, loving. 

He will always want to protect and keep him safe.

His life right now is a series of negotiations, where he has to check in with himself almost daily to see whether or not he's stepping over the line; whether or not he can stomach this or that or whether this is one of those things you're _allowed_ to not like and say you don't.

He knows that Liam goes through a similar dance.

What a pair they made.

 

 

**

 

“Suarez.”

“Oh my god did you see on Match of the Day...?”

“I know!  Get in Palace!”

“Still, though, you gotta admit, it's a shame the way they let that lead slip-”

“Harry, _no-one_ thinks it's a shame! Come on, man! You’re always seeing the other guy's side.  No, you don't 'see the other’s guy's side' when it's bloody Liverpool!”  Louis is shaking his head, but he's grinning, happy to tease him.  

He never fails to come to life whenever they talk football.

Zayn isn't sure Liam was talking football, though – whatever he'd been going to say had got hijacked.  “What about him, babe?”

Liam gives him a subtle blink of  acknowledgement.  “I was going to say that he comes from Uruguay and that that's the only thing I know about the place.”

“Ur a gay.” Niall says in a faux American accent

“I know, but ur a gay, too.”

“ _I'm_ not a gay – I’m pan.”

Louis rolls his eyes, shares a look with Zayn.  “ Fucking hell, Harry.”

“What?”

“We are all aware you're 'pan', but it's nice to have a bit of a laugh every now and again, isn't it?”

Harry shrugs, as though, literally answering the question. “Okay, ur a gay, then.”

Louis gives him a condescending pat on the arm.  “Alright, love, we're done now.”  Though he's still rolling his eyes, he keeps his hand on Harry's arm.  “So, we all rinsed it dry?  Okay, moving on...  Yeah, he's the only thing to come out of the place.  Not saying it's a bad thing or a good thing.”

“But it's a bad thing.”

“A _very_ bad thing.”

“Think they’ll still win the title?”

“Put it this way, Nialler – I don't fucking care.”

“Yeah, Man U got fucked in the arse this season didn't they?”

“Not saying Moyes did a shit job, but Moyes did a shit job!”  He turns to high five first Harry, then Zayn.  “But no worries, Nialler, we'll be back on top in no time.  Just watch.”

“Giggsy's got no form – he's not going to do a better job than Moyes.”

“I hope you are not talking fucking shit about my boy Giggsy!”

Niall shrugs.  “Just facts.  Innit, Payno? Man U's day has come and gone – end of an era, lads.”

The general outrage caused by this statement seems to give both Liam  and Niall – the only 'neutrals' in the room – way more satisfaction than strictly called for.

Zayn, for his part, can take it or fucking _leave_ it when it comes to football – especially watching and supporting his team – but likes bonding this way with the others, so welcomes these moments.

The only time he gets really riled up about football is when Liam attempts to 'school' him during Fifa.  As if West Brom could actually ever beat Man U!

When the dust settles they decide to actually talk about Uruguay, which quite naturally then leads to a long heart-to heart, about being in South America, about the tour in general.

The evening ends on an unexpectedly sombre note.

They're all in agreement: none of them are really feeling it this time round and will do their best to never let that become clear to their fans.

They've all got their personal problems to deal with – relationship issues that need time and space to sort out. 

The tour has come at a really bad time.  Who, though, can ever predict what they'll be doing a year hence, predict their future disposition, emotional landscape? 

None of them had expected to feel as they feel; to be in the relative position in which they currently find themselves.

This time last year he most certainly hadn't expected to be engaged to be married to Liam, to be actively making plans to marry him in the biggest ceremony he can get away with, all his friends and family around him, proudest moment of his life; most certainly hadn’t expected to be doing this in an atmosphere of oppression, lies and manipulation; hadn’t expected to see Louis and Harry embarking on a completely different phase of their relationship, learning remarkable things not only about each other but themselves too, better friends now than they'd ever been at the height of their passionate love affair.

The only thing he'd expected was that Niall would be the same Niall as he'd always been – the balance, the _peg_ that kept them all tethered to the reality of their shared the past, to the adventurous anticipation of their future.

He didn't know what they'd be, what they'd become without Niall to keep them anchored the way he does.

 

 

**

 

You know something's amiss when you feel naked without the bulk of a powerful man in black standing between you and ...everything.

He barely recalls what it felt like the first time they were lectured on the things they couldn't do; the things they needed to let their security staff take care of; the measures they need to take to ensure their security's job was made easier.

At first it was sort of thrilling to feel that someone's actual job was to keep you safe, put themselves between you and any hazard.  Then with a little introspection it had feel a little scary and oppressive.   Now it just feels like second nature, so much so that without his security guard he actually feels naked and anxious.

He's tried to imagine a time when he'll be like everyone else – going to the local shop by himself, shopping by himself - but right now it's pretty impossible to do that without feeling like he's fantasising.

There’s always a crowd of people travelling with them wherever they go, and though it's a headache for all of them, they've simply had to adjust – to keep resisting, keep resenting and lamenting the fact that their lives are this, simply makes everything that much harder.

He's proud of all of them for the way they came through those first few days in Bogotá, which, when he looks back, were so _incredibly_ stressful...

How the _fuck_ had he coped?

It was stupid, but he knew that if they were going to be kidnapped, hurt, he needed to be with Liam when it happened. 

Should it happen when Liam was by himself; someone take him when Zayn was away from him, he'd quite simply fall apart.

Liam's ahead of him, surrounded by bodies – safe – and while that's good, he will need to touch him once they reach the safety of the hotel.

But they are here – in Brazil – and he knows how much that means to both Liam – and Harry.

He has no idea just how manic this will make him – Harry – but he's prepared, in any case.

Rio.

Heard so much about the place.

Time to see if it lives up to its reputation.

 

 

**

 

The thing about it is that Liam's had to deal with Zayn being around his friends on tour (needing to spend time with them because they're there and that's why they came – to spend time with you) and of course he had to bite his lip too when Liam would spend so much time with Andy (demanding guy).  But it somehow feels harder this time.

Perhaps it's because of the anxiety he hasn't quite managed to shake off; maybe because they are definitely not allowed to go on dates while they’re here (and he really wants to see Rio in Liam's exclusive company).  Whatever it is is enough to have him feeling just a little resentful and jealous of Liam's time.

Liam's aware of this, of course, but he chooses not to address it, knowing as he must that it's not exactly something that's open to negotiation – the company only allowed his friends along so that they could keep Liam occupied – keep them _both_ occupied – so it's not particularly clever to rock the boat.

And since he knows damn well how easily Liam takes on his moods, picks up every little thing he's feeling, he won't be adding that to the already too long list of things that are jagged and prickly in their world.

At least keep this side of things as smooth as possible in the circumstances.

He’ll be glad to get back to the UK, though.

Cannot even express how much he misses home right now.

 

**

 

“I just don't understand why he gets a starring role and I don't.”  

Ben looks at him for a moment, clearly caught between the impulse to just outright  laugh or actually take him seriously.  “He has the hat, Zayn.  I'm sorry, but the hat was the clincher.”

“I was upstaged by a hat...”

Ben rubs a conciliatory hand on his back.  “A nice hat.  Only a hat of that calibre could have done it, mate.”

Pouting, he makes a big production of letting him off the hook.  Then gets back to the reason he's there.  “Can I see the photos of Liam?”

“Sure.  Some nice ones.  Here.”

Zayn bends to look at the photos strewn across the table.

They're nice, professionally taken, and show Liam at his best.  Oh, hold on, though... “Don't like this one!”  he says, showing him, an accusatory glint in his eye.

“Oh, that one.  Don't worry, it's just the angle – he wasn't really hanging off that ledge!”  Another rub to his back.  “Liam got a real kick out of that one.”

Zayn knows that by now his anxiety over Liam and all things pertaining to Liam's safety is common knowledge, appreciates the way Ben took the time to reassure him without making a big deal of it.  “Don't know why he had to go there.  So dangerous!”

“Hey I was there too, and so was Harry, as well as a big crew of people.  Get this, mate – even some _women_.  What I’m saying, Zayn, is that it was safe.”  He chuckles.  “You really think our insurers would let us, if we weren't going to take massive precautions?  Two of the most important members of the most important boyband ever, allowed to fall off a mountain?  Hell.  Sorry, mate. Sorry.  Hey.”  He wraps an arm around him.  “That was never even a remote possibility.  Okay?”

Zayn, breathing deep, doesn’t answer, tries to believe him.

The danger has passed, of course – totally - but until he saw that photo hadn't realised just how closely it had brushed its skirts against Liam's unsuspecting person.

What _was_ this?

Why the _fuck_ was he _anticipating_ the hole losing Liam would cleave in his heart?

Why was he _doing_ that to himself?

But no, had to keep him safe, because if Liam _wasn'_ t in danger then he wouldn't be feeling this way!

Ben's talking again, hoping to distract him, probably, but all he can think of is Liam and the ways he stood to lose him; what it would do to him if he did.

 

 

**

 

Niall is the sort of guy you couldn't really have a serious conversation with.

There is something about Niall that makes melodrama roll off his hide like water off a duck's back.

Melodramatic shit quite simply can't adhere to any place he has and has no choice but to roll off.

And the point  is that Zayn and the others all like melodrama.  They may not admit to it, but there's definitely a part of them that thrives on it.

Bring any of your shit to Niall and he'll find a way to make you feel better – and often that's not actually what you want – so they definitely choose each other as appropriate depositories for all the melodramatic relationship and life stuff.

Niall escapes all that – merely observes and understands it all, without ever quite engaging it himself.

But this is something for which he needs Niall.

 _Niall_ is the only one who can help him now.

 

 

**

 

Niall is still hung up the love of his life, but you'd never believe it from the way he's able to just live his life, free from angst and the need to be constantly talking about them.

Zayn talks about Liam all the bloody time – in whatever way he can get away with.

Louis and Harry reference each other for many, if not most things.

Niall never ever talks about his love, and it's just another of the many things Zayn loves about him.

Obviously he's expressed his willing to be an ear for him, but Niall doesn't seem to want to confide in him (or any of them from what he can gather) and that's okay, he respects it.  The only advice he'd be able to give him in any case would be to be patient, as patient as he'd been when it came to Liam, and that's actually not much in the way of advice.  Pretty sure that Niall was being as patient as patient could be, all the while savvy enough to know that patience didn't guarantee the achievement of any sort of goal.

So, he comes empty-handed in terms of like for like reciprocation, but maybe that won't matter.

No, he _knows_ it won't matter.

Niall, like Harry is possibly the most generous person he knows, giving of himself in ways that are frankly astonishing.

“Hey, mate.  How's it going?”

“Hi.”  He gets a hug, can tell he's been drinking.  Probably with Josh and the others.  “Cannot beat this.  I'm with Harry – this is now my favourite place on the tour.  Did you see the view, Zayn?  Can you believe this?  In Rio.  Cannot believe it!”

Zayn spends a few moments allowing him to wax lyrical, aware that listening to him has already started to have an effect on his anxiety level.

And what he hadn't quite worked out was how exactly to approach the subject.  He knows he's being paranoid, stupid, ridiculous.

“You okay, Zayno?”

He smiles, as he always does around Niall, especially when he's doing the 'I'm talking softly as if to a frightened horse, because the last thing I need is to get a kick in the goolies' thing.  “Loving the city, Niall, but I was just wondering...”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever get really, really worried about someone, like you can't shake this feeling of them being in danger, and you don't know why.  Does that ever happen to you?”

Niall shrugs.  “Like the second sight you mean?  Well, not me, but I know people who do.  Why?  You got that?  Who about?”

Zayn looks away, feeling ridiculous.  “It's stupid.”

“Your mam?”

“No, nothing like that.”  Sighing, he decides to drop it, change the subject. “I was just being stupid.  It's nothing.”

“Liam?”

Zayn nods, unable to obfuscate now the fear has been named; is still surprised, however, at the lump in his throat, the anxious tears just starting to pull his attention with their slight burn as they prepare to spill. 

What was wrong with him?  He was acting like an idiot, a hysterical girl.  “It just came on me out of nowhere, man.  I don't know what to do.  It feels like I'm just being stupid, but what if I'm not, what if he's going to be hurt or something?  We all know that it's really dangerous here, what if he gets hurtsNiall? What am I gonna do?”

“Okay, okay.”  Niall wraps both arms around him.  “Come on, man, take a breath.  Nothing's going to happen to him.  I bet it didn't come out of the blue though, did it?  I know you, Zayn – you saw something and it made you start thinking....”

“He was on the mountain – in Peru.  Saw some pics Ben had and he was hanging off the mountain, Niall! Why the fuck was he doing that?  Ben says it was just the angle, but just seeing that ...It just made me so afraid.  What if he'd tripped as he was walking up the path and fell over the side?  You can’t stop accidents happening.  Ben says the insurance wouldn't allow it to happen, but how the fuck do you stop-  And those fucking fans!  What if one of them has a knife?  You've seen the stuff they say about him on twitter!  What if one of those fuckers tries something?”

“Okay, man, you need a drink.  Come on.”

 

 

**

 

“I swear nothing's going to happen to him, Zayn.  You can see that, can't you, see it's just your anxiety playing with you.”  His blue eyes are direct, but mild.  He isn't placating him; he utterly believes the words he's saying, and this has a calming effect.

“Man, I just get so afraid, cos it's true isn't it, anything can happen.  We think we're safe, but are we really?”

“Zayn!”  He shakes him.  “Come on, man, you're gonna bring _me_ down in a minute.”

“Sorry.”  He takes a sip of his drink.  “Promise me, though, promise me nothing's going to happen to him.”  He knows it's stupid, Niall knows it's stupid, but they both know that Niall will promise him all the same.

“Zayn, I promise you that nothing’s gonna happen to him.  You'll see.  Tomorrow you'll wonder why the hell you got yourself into such a state, and guess what? I'm gonna take the piss out of you so hard!”

Zayn takes a breath, silently vowing that so long as Allah keeps Liam safe he will allow Niall to take the piss out of him for the rest of his life.

He needs to be back at home; needs to keep Liam under his watchful gaze, have him where he can see him, where he can sleep with him every night, spend all day cooking for him, letting him win at Fifa (perhaps), watching crappy t.v

The sooner they get home the better.

Rio is great, but he just needs to be in his own space.

And he and Liam need to talk.

 

 

**

 

There is no such thing as a quickie when it comes to sex with Liam – that's what makes being on tour so hard.

He remembers in the early days, the heavy, hormone fuelled teen age years (which seem a lifetime ago now) when all he'd wanted was to touch him, go down on him, have Liam do the same to him.

A quickie would have fit the bill quite nicely then – or that's what he'd probably have believed.

Having had sex with Liam, though, he doubts there could ever have been anything quick or perfunctory about it.

He'd be lying if he were to say he had _extensive_ sexual experience – with other people.  Truth is the major part of his sexual history is with Liam – the part that really counts.

Everyone and everything before Liam was simply marking time, simply occupying himself, keeping himself ticking over so as not to eat him alive whenever they were together.

It served its purpose, and though he knows it's politically incorrect to think this let alone express it, the truth is that his hand would have been as satisfying (and rather less messy).

He'd always been attracted to boys, never truly questioned it except for the fact that he knew it wasn't what his parents, his community, his religion – society in general – expected of or wanted for him.  One couldn't alter one's basic nature, however - that much he knew.  So when he'd entered this new world, where all the rules were strange and different; where people expected you to just _know_ what you could and couldn't do, where deception wasn't even considered a fault, a sin, just the coin of the realm he'd been a little confused (to put it mildly).

The first surprise was that no-one actually disapproved of you being attracted to other guys, you were just required to put on a show for the wider world, required to sell that as your reality  - but only for them: _you_ didn't actually have to consume that fruit yourself. 

But that had been really hard for him to do – he simply wasn't built that way, couldn't play the game to the level required. 

When it was made clear that he needed to start 'dating' some of the girls on the show, he'd gone into panic mode, sure he'd fail, sure they would find him out.  But it hadn't been that way at all.  He'd feared that he wouldn’t be attracted enough to any of the girls to sell the lie

But his fears had been groundless.  The ordeal hadn't been anything as bad as he'd been expecting, and he'd ended up feeling really proud of himself; proud that he'd broken through another barrier, that he'd somehow unexpectedly (and surprisingly painlessly) managed to gain his credentials to this heterosexual club.

Which meant, of course, that he could relax: if he needed to sleep with a girl he definitely could, and so need never panic on that score ever again.

And as with all young men he'd become a little arrogant and over-confident with it, much in the same way a new convert tends to be rather more zealous than the people who'd been brought up in that religion, who took it in their stride, took its 'wonders' pretty much for granted.

No, he'd gone a little overboard, for some reason intent on convincing himself that he could do this, that this was what he wanted now; that he no longer wanted to be with guys.

But being with girls, pretending to be heterosexual was rather like eating frog's legs or some other 'delicacy' you'd avoided for years, then when you finally took the plunge, realising it was nowhere near as bad as you'd feared.  The euphoria that came as a natural by-product of the mingled pride and relief borne out of the knowledge you'd had the guts to go there impinged on your ability to think straight, to see things as they actually were, so much so that you somehow managed to convince yourself you’d be able to live on frog's legs for the rest of your life.

His preference was chicken, always had been, couldn't see a time when it wouldn't be, and just because for a time you got a taste for the novelty of frog's legs, fuelled by the euphoria of overcoming a blockage you'd been holding in your head about what was good to eat (or not), didn't mean that you wouldn't soon be wracked raw by the craving for chicken once more.

For the thing about frog's legs was that they were just a local delicacy, something you sampled just to adhere to the conventions of the region -  just to be polite.  No-one expected you to never eat chicken again, didn't even necessarily expect you to ever eat frog's legs again either – once you were back home.

He'd just got caught up in thumbing his nose at the part of his psyche that had sneeringly convinced him he'd never have the stomach for it  - and taken it to a level he'd had no real cause to.

Because at the end of the day, no-one _cared_ that he'd eaten frog's legs once: the locals expected it, didn’t regard eating that particular dish as any big deal so weren't even aware that his mind was doing that utterly foolish, teenage dance.

The people who knew he was a big fan of chicken knew he'd soon tire of the novelty of the frog's legs and be back to eating chicken when he was ready.

But while he'd been trying to convince himself that he was going to add frog legs as a part of his weekly meal choices for the foreseeable future there were messes being left in his wake.

When there are other people involved in the games you play with yourself yes, there will always be mess.

Girls come with games, and strings and expectations and when all's said and done there really is only so much Mr. Nice Guy he can access at any given time.  He does – did – try, but it was often an ordeal to pretend to be interested in them outside the sexual exchange, and he knows he could have been nicer.

The truth is he might as well have stuck a £50 in their hands (or handbags) and waved them on their way – that would have been a far more honest exchange. 

But he could play the game if that's what they needed.

And of course he'd used them (as they'd used him), but the sad thing was that there seemed to be no real awareness of that; of the fact that whenever he was with them they were not with him – not in his heart, his head, even his vision; seeing but not seeing, Liam always, always there – first second, always.

The interest they were sure was real wasn't interest at all, just the manifestation wrought by a hurt and wounded little boy, doing his best to front, to pretend it _didn't_ hurt; wanting to show him that he was desirable, that he wasn't feeling rejected, that he could love someone else; function, _fully_ function with someone else in his heart.

He knows, now, of course, that he hurt him profoundly with all that, but it had most certainly been a two way street, where neither of them could say _he_ didn't have the right of way.

Liam hadn't been free and _he'd_ never told him he loved him.

How could he have told him he loved him, put it out there that way?  What, and get rejected directly?  Bad enough to be rejected on a daily – nightly – basis, couldn’t bear to force him to say it to his face.

And he'd hurt him for sex that simply wasn't that great.

Oh he could get his rocks off no problem, but was it meant to be so... transitory?  Were you meant to feel so disconnected afterwards? 

Didn't understand what all the fuss was about if the pleasure was so brief, so momentary, when the aftermath felt like something you'd actively want to avoid in future, which surely meant avoiding the sexual act beforehand.

The only thing the sex ever did was make him want Liam all the more, which made him hurt all the more, and then look to alleviate that some more with a little more sex, hoping this time would be different.

He occasionally wonders what his life might have been like had he not fallen in love with Liam that way, with his whole heart, every molecule in his soul, obliterating every impulse to be with anyone else at source; a brushfire coursing through his soul, burning everything in its path till all that's left is the essence, the core of molten energy that burns ever on.

Liam knew about the 'girlfriends' of course, knew about the couple of times on tour, and he'd always been careful not to comment – even by not commenting - was fairly casual about it.  They never went on double dates together though (he made no secret of the fact that he and Danielle didn't really hit it off ) and things were as they were.

But it was when Liam discovered he'd slept with a mutual friend – a guy – that things kicked off.

Oh Liam was never that direct about things, especially when it came to the fact of being jealous, but there'd been frost in the air for days after, the way there never had been when it came to his girlfriends, whom he'd had far longer 'affairs' with.

Zayn had known then for sure that there was _more_ than hope to cling to.

It had then become a question of waiting patiently for things to change.

Patience was a hit and miss affair for him: at times he was possibly the least patient person he knew, and at others waiting seemed like a walk in the park, not even creating a blip on his consciousness.

So it was when it came to waiting for Liam: both the most onerous task ever and at the same time a joyous walk in the park.

Perrie had come on the scene at one of the onerous tasks periods; a time when he'd been most angry with Liam, knowing for sure Liam wanted him, yet seeing the way he couldn't seem to make himself leap across the chasm separating the guy he thought he was (the guy everyone thought he was) and the guy he actually longed to be.

And the way he held Danielle as a shield, a barrier between them – well, not so much between them, but more as a means of desperately holding on to the old Liam - pissed him off so bad...

All of this was crystal clear to Zayn, and the worst part of that was that Liam knew it was. 

All of  it unspoken, unacknowledged, lying between them like a jagged spike, tipped with poison.

He'd slept with her out of spite, to show him how it felt to be in love with someone and see them sleeping with someone else.

And she'd made it worse, of course – going further than their agreement, actually fooling herself into believing his 'interest' lay in anything other than the convenience of her; the novelty of her; the fact that of all the girls he could have chosen to send a firm and brutal message to Liam she had been the most ideal.

Too far, much, much too far, for the hurt he saw in Liam's eyes whenever she was around, whenever he saw her in the office, arm in arm with him, proprietary, actually believing his interest in her could develop and grow into something real, was more than he'd intended.

And she was so full of herself, so convinced of her own irresistibility that she was unable to even sense the undercurrents between him and Liam, couldn’t even tell Liam detested her.

Though to be fair, Liam was pretty good at fooling people that way.

Zayn was pretty sure that the only reason she even knew he detested her at all was because he'd made a point of telling her – at length.

And that, of course, had heralded the outbreak of hostilities which hadn't let up at all since.

She most definitely got a spiteful thrill whenever she saw him angry during the Public Relations outings or photo ops, no doubt gleefully imagining just how the fact of him having no choice but to comply, to jump whenever they said to would impact Liam, whom she, of course, despised with the passion only a scorned woman could muster.

For Liam could be scornful, and he'd most certainly torn scornful strips off her, not even attempting to hide his utter contempt for everything for which she stood.  He'd verbally assaulted her even more brutally than Zayn had ever done to Danielle – and that was really saying something – which made the position in which they now found themselves absolutely untenable.

Ironic that Liam might have been less wounded had Zayn been involved with anyone other than Perrie.  There must have been something about her that made him lose all ability to pretend, and to see Zayn with her had clearly pushed him right over the edge.

So, in many ways she'd actually been instrumental in getting Liam to make that leap.

Was he grateful to her for that?

Was he fuck as like?

He couldn't believe he'd actually fucked her, actually felt enough affection to sleep at her side those few times.

He regretted that with every fibre of his being, because he knew didn’t he, how it felt to see Liam with a girl he'd fucked, see her with hands on him, at his side like she had the right to be there, lording it over him, arrogantly displaying her prior claim.

And that prior claim, being there _first_ was a big card for anyone to hold.

Danielle held it, Perrie held it and he hated himself for ever giving her even that,  handing her that stick with which to beat Liam.

He hadn't wanted her at all, had been weak, been too fucking caught up in being so hurt he couldn’t see straight to keep her at arm’s length; too blind to see her for the snake she was.  Not like she wasn't assuredly _not_ the type of girl he'd ever want, not even the type of girl he'd fuck for the night, but he'd been greedy, stupid and now the mistake he'd made of allowing her into his bed was still having repercussions.

He despised her so much it made him physically sick to contemplate being anywhere near her.

Liam, Liam had lost all capacity to even talk about it anymore; couldn’t even find it in himself to attempt to reassure Zayn, remind him that it was only a few photos; a shopping trip here, a  trip to the zoo there.  Liam couldn't cope with it anymore, and hated that he was letting Zayn down in his time of need.

If he hadn’t slept with her none of it would have had quite that stink of corruption, of barely contained hostility.

At first Zayn had been impatient with him, telling him that it was necessary and not that big a deal.

And then Danielle had come back on the scene.

And he'd known then with the searing pain  of jealousy unfettered, unconstrained just exactly what Liam felt whenever he even _heard_ Perrie's name.

It didn't matter that he'd chosen you, that in his heart it had _always_ been you – the point, the fucking point is that for too long, too damn long this poisonous bitch had been around him; had put her hands on what belonged to you and had the absolute fucking temerity to think she had prior claim – even to the point of trying to seduce him again, thinking she could still wield that power.

The fact that she had the advantage of being the official lover, the one the world knew about – the _only_ one, in their eyes – still stung.

She knew better, of course, than to actually _present_ herself for a beating, but she had her ways, her poisonous snake ways.

Why had the women with whom they'd entangled themselves all turned out to be such snakes?

And when the fuck would they get the opportunity to chop of their fucking snake heads for once and for all?

The fact that he can't be with Liam the way he wants right now is making his hatred for the snakes touch – and stay on – the bright red sector of the danger metre.

He needs a night with him – a long, carefree, sultry night with his man.

And this tour is just too, too long...

 

 

**

 

He watches him suit up. 

Always fascinating to watch him become someone else: the performer, the guy who's confident and comfortable in front of a crowd.  It's still his Liam, but with layers, layers he likes to help him shed after the performance is over, help slowly bring him back to who he really is.

Liam winks at him, staring into his eyes as he adjusts himself.

“How you feeling,” he asks, voice low, eyes hooded.

“Like I wanna eat something.”

Liam smiles, glancing subtly around before placing a finger against Zayn's lips, and watches, no longer smiling, as Zayn licks a slow circle round the tip then all the way down to the knuckle before sucking it into the wet warmth of his mouth.

He makes  a strangled sound in the back of his throat and when he finally pulls free his voice is no longer smug.  “Can't eat that. I need that for... typing.”

Zayn hooks a finger into the waist of his boxers, scratches very lightly at the hair he can feel tickling his skin.  “I bet I can change your mind.”

“About what to do with that finger?”

“That too.”

Niall pushes past Liam, headphones on his head, towel round his neck and, the mood broken, Liam pulls back – away.

Zayn, stubbornly tries to hold on, but they can hear Louis' dulcet tones getting closer and no, the mood's been broken.

He knows the frustration he feels as Liam consciously pushes himself out of that mode, all the way back to Liam the performer mode is disproportionate, but the way he's been feeling since the tour began is symptomatic of the utter frustration he now feels with what his life has become, the need to be with Liam greater, more raw and ragged than it has ever been.

He used to imagine what being with him would be like, all the frustration _then_ for fear of never getting the chance to experience that.  Now it's about having it, it being wholly his and yet somehow having it _kept_ from him.

He stares at Liam, at his familiar and beloved back and wonders just how long they can go on this way.

 

 

**

 

Words wound.

Words cut.

Words are like the bite of a tsetse fly – tiny, sharp sting, dismissed, ignored until your system starts slowly to fail...

And words can heal as effectively as the simple antidote to the most virulent of poisons.

Writing is taking something that can either be weapon or cure and weaving  patterns from it; patterns that each person sees, but doesn't see, not in the same way.

He and Liam don't write together very often because something happens when they do – the result, even the process, too personal, too deep.

It's why Liam writes with Louis and Louis doesn't write with Harry.

Love can bring out the best in you, but really, when it comes to writing songs pain is probably a more effective tool.

When Louis came up with the lyrics for 'Strong' he was aware that he'd pretty much already lost Harry, and was baring his heart, hoping to show him that there was hope; that he was prepared to do all the things he'd baulked at doing before – pleading for another chance.

Zayn was aware of how much that cost him; aware too that _Harry_ , more than anyone, knew how much it cost him – and it had been the right thing to do, the gesture more than proving to Harry that he was serious, that he was sincere; that when he said he loved him, despite everything, despite all the things he'd done and kept doing wrong he absolutely meant it.  Since they all knew how much it scared Louis to be  put on the spot, to be asked to reveal his real face to the world (and being subsequently judged for it)  for him to bare his heart for the world to see was the clearest sign he could possibly give to Harry that he was ready for something new, something better.

Harry, by then, had moved on – or so he tried to make himself believe – even going so far as writing a song to show Louis that he had.

And that's when words could be used as weapons – when you write a song letting your lover know that he isn't number one anymore; that there's someone else who's supplanted him in your affection – and expect him to sing it, knowing it's about someone else.

But that was the hazard they all faced when it came to writing songs about their lives: it wasn't just you and Harry singing, or you and Liam singing, it was all of them – singing lines that are aimed at a specific person, and sometimes that person is you.

He could hardly blame Harry, though.  Didn't matter that he personally wanted him and Louis to stay together, be together properly – the fact is that neither of them had been happy with the situation as it stood, and Harry, being Harry had been the courageous one, the one who'd been prepared to make a change in the hopes of getting their relationship over the state of stagnation it had fallen into.  

Zayn couldn't say for sure that his hope had been to put a figurative rocket up Louis' arse or whether he'd simply hoped that _any_ change to the relationship would have an ultimately positive effect,  all he knew was that in his estimation Harry had never stopped loving Louis, so could only assume he'd wanted Louis to wake up and do his part in making them work.

The most important part of it all in his opinion was that song, the song which was Louis' promise to change, to approach the relationship differently this time.

That was pretty much all Harry had needed. 

And though it hadn't reached him at first, like a slow acting cure it had eventually done its work, reminding him why it was he'd tried so hard to make things work between them; reminding him that Louis was worth it, worth the effort of making them work.

Watching them now is like watching two dogs conducting a courtship – very careful to make the right low key gestures, carefully scrutinising the other’s moods and movement, not making any attempt to mark territory, to explicitly _say_ what rules govern the interaction – making no demands at all.

It's amazing to him, since he knows exactly how controlling Louis is, how territorial Harry can be, but when you've been wounded the way they've been wounded you simply don't do the thing the way you did it before.

So long as they take it slowly and carefully he knows that they'll end up stronger than ever - not exclusive ; pretty sure that ship has long since set sail (especially on Harry’s side of the equation ), but most certainly more mature, more genuinely good friends than they've ever been.

And as far as he can see it's down to the fact that Louis' developed a greater appreciation of Harry now, no longer takes him for granted the way he tended to in the past, but also down to the fact that Louis' more in touch with who _he_ is, no longer so ready to allow his insecurities to run his life.

Harry's strength and self-confidence used to drive him spare (though he'd never outright admit that), leading him to take bites out of Harry, try to control him, all the while knowing deep down that he was pushing him away.

They'd watch it, knowing what was going on, but unable to say anything, interfere - you only did that by _invitation_.  But it's different now, and while it likely wouldn’t ever happen that way these days,  they probably would   interfere if it did.

Since Harry's relationship with Louis these days is on a completely different footing, he believes they _are_ now allowed to interfere, to intervene should things get out of hand.

But things won't get out of hand - he is quite confident of that - and it can't be denied that the relief of seeing them like this has a knock-on effect on the rest of the group.

It's only recently occurred to Zayn that maybe Louis needed Harry to simply love and admire him for himself - not because he was the 16 year old Harry's crush, first real love.  Louis needed him to love the man – flaws and all – not because he was so in love he couldn’t see straight, but because he simply loved and admired Louis Tomlinson the man – beautiful, insecure, warm and witty genius of a man. And that's what was going on with them now – not sex, not infatuation: genuine love and admiration.

He can't help but feel a sense of mingled pride and relief that they've taken that journey and come out the other side – changed, but better for it.

And in many ways it makes singing You and I, or watching Harry sing it, quite hard, for he and Liam wrote about the contrast between their relationship and Harry and Louis' relationship, and now that they're back on firmer footing, those issues behind them, it feels quite mean to remind them of the mistakes they made.

But of course that would be taking credit away from Louis and Harry, because the truth is the truth.   They can't actually change history, and that's what they've had to face – all of them – singing songs that refer to situations they're going or have been through – and learning to do it, not let the words sting too much, derail you.

There'd been no intent to compare how they saw themselves to the way they'd seen Harry and Louis fall apart, but it would have been dishonest to dodge the contrast, and the point about writing is that you did it honestly or forgot about it altogether. If you weren’t going to dig deep, excavate your very soul in a quest to find gold then why bother?

He and Liam had been in bed one evening, talking; talking about everything: about how they just wished everything could just be straightforward for once, easy for once, and as Liam sighed, absently rubbing his arm Zayn had assured him that there was nothing that anyone could throw at them that would break them up.

“Not even god and the angels above,” said in a seep sonorous voice.

Zayn can tell he's smiling.  “Serious, babe,” he says, kissing his chest. “Never gonna give you up.”

“Never gonna let you down, never gonna  turn away-”

“Or desert you.”  Smiling, he slaps him lightly on the arm.  “Definitely not Rick Astley, more Celine Dion,  than Astley.”

“Or Buble?”

“Beyonce.”

“Mary J.”

“Arethra?”

“Any reason we're female?”

“R. Kelly?”

“If I could turn back the hands of time...“

“Frank Ocean, mebbe.”

“Hmm.”   He sounds thoughtful, and Zayn pays attention because he can tell he's about to come up with something.  “Not even the gods above can separate Zayn and his man.  Zayn and his man are meant to be-e-e-e—eeeee!” and hits a note so high, Zayn fully expects to hear a chorus of barking protests from the neighbourhood dogs.

“Zayn's man is the best thing that Zayn's ever seen.  His man is like the Hulk, Captain America, Batman, Superman and Spiderman all rolled into one-o-onnnnn!”

“Zayn's man thinks that Zayn is a star that fell-ell-ellllll from the heavens above and is ready and willing to give him all of his loooove.”

“All of his loe-oooove!”

“Does Zayn's man have a nammmmmeeeeee!?”

“His name is the sound, the sound, the souuuund of the wind whispering in the trees.  His naaaammmme is the sound of my heart singing whenever he's near...”  There’s a silence at this and when he looks up he sees that the jovial silliness of the previous mood has been broken.  He says nothing, simply places a finger against Liam's lips, slowly nodding as if  in confirmation of his words.

“I've got an idea for a song.  I mean proper song, Zayn, something I want on the album.”

“Okay.”

He puts his hand in Zayn's hair the way he always does (almost as if  Zayn's hair is his comfort blanket), absently stroking  and playing with the strands as he talks.  “You know how you said nothing can break us up?  Well, I think we need to make it about that, about how, no matter what, nothing's going to break us, no-one can come between us.”  He looks down at him, and his eyes are soft, almost apologetic.  “We've seen what they did to Louis and Harry.”

“To be fair, babe-”  and he touches his hand, also apologetic. “They kinda did it to themselves.  And I think the thing is we'd never do it like that, never be so...separate... that we'd allow us to lose what we had.  They kinda made themselves weak from the start by having other people involved.  Never gonna happen with us.”

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully.  “I suppose they did kinda bring it on themselves, in a way.”

Zayn's nod is firm.  “And cos of that, cos of not being committed enough, when there was problems they didn't have the will to fight – not the way they fucking well should have.  I'd never have let you go the way Louis did with Harry.”

“I never would have wanted to be with anyone else.”

Zayn shrugs.  “Well, that's what makes us different, babe.  Not saying he don't love Harry, just that I love _you_ fucking _more!”_ ”  And he can't help himself he leans up and gives Liam a firm, possessive kiss just to underline the statement.  “Lou knows he made a mistake.”

“I know.”

“And the thing is, we’re never going to, never going to make the mistake he did-”

“To be fair though, Zayn, it wasn't just Tommo.  Harry did some seriously shady stuff as well!”

“Not denying that, but the first mistake was Louis'.  He should never, ever have thought it was okay to be fuck buddies, to sleep with other people.  I know he thought it was the right thing to do, but I think he was just being a pussy about it.”  Liam shrugs non-committally.  Zayn knows the subject makes him uncomfortable, particularly since it generally heralds a tirade on his part, and well, he's not going to apologise or that; it's something that does rile him, hitting as it does at the very foundation of his love for Liam, at the way he perceives his relationship with Liam.  Seeing Louis apparently care so little for his man that he'd sleep around on him, and worse of all, allow other people to have him (whether he approved or not, which of course he never fucking did!) offends him on a level that goes deep enough to leave claw marks,  a scarring that he feared would probably never heal.

“He should have had the fucking guts not to sleep with anyone, to claim Harry and let Harry claim him stead of fucking around and then being all hurt when little Harry done the same! He treated Harry like shit them days – you can't deny it.”

“I used to hate him for that, if I'm honest.  He was so full of himself! And Harry was so into him. I couldn’t believe the way he'd go off, knowing he was hurting him and not care.”

“Yeah, he was a dickhead.”  He's uncomfortable of course, knowing that he'd been one of the reasons Harry had been hurt, but he'd been an idiot back then and wasn’t going  to waste time dwelling on his past behaviour, on his hypocrisy now.  Yes, he should have stayed out of it, not been such a greedy sod, eating all the chocolate in the shop when it was offered, but at the same time, Louis shouldn't have offered; Harry shouldn’t have either.

But, really, he has no fucking idea, when all's said and done, why they are all of them still friends.

He knows that Louis' had it hardest of all, having to swallow every ounce of hurt pride and genuinely hurt feelings he feels toward himself and Niall, treat them like mates, but he knows fuck well that _he_ went there first, made the first foundational error in judgement.

Well, if _he_ discovered that any one of them had put the moves on Liam he'd beat the shit out of him – and they knew it too.  But they fucking know, don’t they, that Liam's strictly off-limits, that there's no fucking sharing him with _anyone;_ that if Liam wanted non-exclusivity he could take a running jump, basically.  Zayn would end it rather than share him in that way.  That clear, that simple, which is why he still struggles to understand Louis' motivation for the way he handled his early relationship with Harry.

He hadn't been in love with him then – clearly - had fallen in love later– proper love, not the teenage, hormone influenced notion of love – and well, that's when his chickens had really come home to roost.

The first sign that he'd fallen for Harry was when he started getting tats.  Before then he'd been adamant that he wouldn’t, genuinely turned off by the idea, sure enough of his own identity to know what he did and didn't like – and stick to his guns.

But he was in love, and by then Harry had started sowing his own seeds – with both guys and the occasional girl – alarming him, making him wonder for the first time whether  the decision to fuck around on him would be the karmic equivalent of getting his goolies caught in his zipper.

And since he knew exactly what Zayn thought of this, started confiding more in Liam, Liam who was sympathetic in all things, who never made it clear he was judging the fuck out of you.  Louis, in any case, knew Zayn well enough to know exactly when he was judging even when he was saying all the right things.

The point, however, from Zayn's point of view was that if Louis hadn't bloody well been a tit in the first fucking place he could have avoided all that unnecessary pain.

How could he not have known he'd fall in love with Harry? How the fuck was he _not_ going to start feeling strongly about him?  Louis had acted like a 12 year old jackass completely devoid of sense, of any intelligence as regards relationships, somehow believing that Harry’s infatuation would always remain static; a dog in heat, a puppy excitedly yapping at the sound of its master’s voice.  But that wasn't Harry, that was only Harry when he thought he was in a relationship of equals, when he thought he was being respected.  And how the fuck had Louis ever allowed himself to believe that Harry, Harry fucking Styles wouldn't eventually rebel?  That, in many ways, is the bit he finds hardest to comprehend.

But that was them, and he and Liam are definitely not about to make those same mistakes.

He turns to him, kisses him again – an apology, a promise.  “Do you wanna start now?”

“Could do.  Get a pen and pad then.  I'll get the keyboard...”

They'd worked on it for a while to their satisfaction, knowing that it was still a little rough around the edges, and would need one of the pros to give it a final polish.  There were some lines they were adamant had to remain – untouched, unadulterated – however, and the melody had to stay essentially the same.   It was a good melody, influenced by a combination of RnB and torch singing.   Once it got the pro treatment it'd have that 1D sound, but that's okay – when he and Liam sing it to each other it'll be the version _they_ came up with.  And that's actually better, since, that way, it'll remain wholly their song.

After a brief consultation they agree not to take writing credit for it (they don't need to get a lecture from on high to know how _that_ particular game is played) but since it's their song they'll take ownership of it in ways just as public – just not _official_.

Singing it on tour has been a strange experience.

Because they know it's their song it's been a little hard not to get emotional about the fact that they're not quite able to acknowledge exactly what it means to have written it about and for each other; to sing it each night whilst standing beside each other – pretending not to be in love, pretending that it's not what it is.

When they recorded it, even when they rehearsed it the psychic backlash of the pretending had not penetrated at that time; neither of them had had any idea how it would feel to be in a position where they were having to force themselves to pretend in front of a crowd of millions.  It was literally like denying their love, and Liam has been handling it really badly – more so than either of them could ever have anticipated.

Every night prior to going back on for that final set he gets really agitated – without fail, donning his suit of armour, silently asking Zayn to leave him be, to let him, to not try to comfort or make him feel better.  Liam is the sort of guy who can make a mountain out of a molehill and then set up entire colonies there, entire civilisations which last for aeons of time.  It's one of his stubborn phases, and it feels to Zayn that it's a way of coping for him, that he actually wants to feel bad about it, that if he stops feeling bad he'll somehow invite the gods of hubris or whatever to smite him right where it hurts most – his relationship with Zayn.

Well, Zayn understands this all too well, so is gentle with him, tries to support him by not forcing the issue, by going along with him as far as he's able.

He intends, however, to see that this changes in time. 

It's his intent to have them performing this the way it should be performed come the next leg of the tour.

He just isn't sure that Liam will have the capacity to dismantle that mountain, bring it back down to the level of that molehill it started out as.

 

**

 

Liam's in pretending mode again.

He hates when Zayn looks at him when he's in pretending mode, as though he's being called out on a lie he's trying to sell, and like the boy who was the only one who could see the Emperor's naked arse, Zayn's pointing and shaking his head, no.

Well, he just doesn't like to see him pretending; he should never have to pretend – none of them should.

They're all tired, eager to end this tour, but Harry and Niall, even Louis, are genuinely enjoying aspects of their time in South America.  Liam really isn't.  Zayn knows him well, and knows, therefore, that it's pretty much all an act.

Yes, he has moments of genuine happiness, but his mind is split in several different directions, each of them causing him anxiety, making it near on impossible for him to truly be as happy as he's pretending to be.

The pressure is on him, too, of course, but he can handle that, can't handle what it's doing to Liam, which of course makes the stress just that much worse.

They still have a couple more shows and then they'll be back in the UK: he'll be able to have time with him – something he's absolutely panting for.  For the lovemaking which they've had to be quite careful with  - not that they've had the opportunity at all, really – but more for the feeling, the relief of being home, of being safe and secure, of being able to protect him.

And of course so he can have Liam's undivided attention – something he's really missed these past few weeks.

Liam really needs to stop spending time with his damn friends and spend time with him instead.

Yes, he's being unreasonable, but in the privacy of his own damn head he'll be as jealous and possessive and damn unreasonable as he chooses!

It's not that he'll try to stop Liam from being with his friends once they're married or anything – he actually likes that they have different interests, different friends, aren't joined at the hip.  No, it's that he needs him now, needs him not to be having fun with his mates, when Zayn's missing him so damn much.

And if he sounds like a spoiled toddler unwilling to share his toys, well, guilty as charged.

 

 

**

 

“Alright if I take the piss, Zayno?”

Niall's grinning, the dark glasses giving him the appearance of a sinister cherub.  Shrugging, Zayn retorts.  “And what if I said no, no it's not alright?”

“Was a rhetorical question.”

“Yeah, what I thought.” He sighs.  “Go on then – do your worst.”

“Really, Zayno?  Warn you first?  No, I'm gonna do it when you're not expecting it!”

“Whatever, Niall.  I'm sleeping – you know that, don't you?”

Niall's looking at Liam, thoughts hidden behind the glasses.  “Alright Payno?”

“I will be once I get some shut-eye, mate.”

“Okay, I get the message.”

“Bye, Nialler.”  Liam hasn’t opened his eyes once, but he does punctuate the farewell with a dismissive hand wave.

Zayn looks at Niall with an 'and there you have it' expression, waiting until he takes his seat before turning to Liam.  “Alright babe?”

“I could do with a cuddle.  You up for a cuddle?”

“Always.”

As he pulls Liam into his embrace he forgives himself for the smug satisfaction he feels knowing that Liam's with him and not with his friends.

Liam's friends are not a problem, no threat at all – he just really, really needs to be with him, has felt bereft all these weeks, the time they've had simply not enough to slake his thirst for his company, and this, this is the signal he's been silently awaiting that says 'we're on the way – soon we'll be back home and there'll be no interference, no friends taking up space, taking up his time'.

A few more hours and Liam will be his, all his once more...

 

 

**

 

Louis needs people around him all the time, doesn't really like his own company.

He absolutely thrives holding court in a house filled to the brim with people who adore him.  He feeds off the energy of a crowd, but prefers that the crowd is made up of peers, people he loves and get on with.

He really shouldn't live alone, which is why he's always up in Yorkshire whenever he's home, why there's an open invitation to the rest of them to drop by.

Louis is one of the most generous hosts ever – literally allowing you to make his home your home.  A few rules, but nothing like Harry, Liam – himself - who could all vie for the award of most anal-retentive hosts ever, ever.

Being over at Louis' is a treat – something they all look forward to.

Liam's paying a flying visit to Wolves so when Louis texts him to come for tea that evening he's eager to accept the invite.

He'd imagined he'd want to sleep for a week, but that's not how it's been.

He and Liam have a date later that week and have agreed to save up all their energy for then.

The truth is he's actually full of restless energy and there is no-one better than Louis for working that off.

Zayn has no idea what the plan is – maybe they'll just play video games and chat, but he's looking forward to de-stressing with him.

 

 

**

 

“Tell the truth, Azzi – I saw the way you were looking.  You can't stand him, can you?”

Zayn shrugs.  “I'm not like you, Tommo – I don't want to kill all his 'friends'.”

“Low blow, man.  Low.”

“Well, it's true.  I'll admit I wasn't feeling all the time he was spending with Li, but that's cos...”  He shrugs again.

“Cos?”

“Fuck off, man.”

“Cos, you think he's interested in Payno's fine ass.”

Zayn gives him a look, far from amused.  “Not funny, bro.”

“But I saw that look, Az.  Just admit it.”

“Nothing  to admit.  He's okay.  I like him.”  He ignores Louis' snort. “Aren't we supposed to be going to the shop?”

“He's a bit of a looker, though, isn't he?  Kinda Payno's type to be fair.”

“Keep coming, bro.”

“I mean, we know he's got a bit of a type...”

“You need to back off it, bro.  Telling you.”

Louis watches his face, considering whether or not to indeed back off it, then with a shrug, he says: “Yeah, let's get some fags.  I could do with some milk and stuff too.  Come on.”

 

 

**

 

Liam does indeed have a type – Zayn is very aware of that.  _He_ fits into that type – Harry doesn't, Louis doesn't, Niall doesn't.  Tom does. 

When he and Liam met they recognised each other immediately.   He can  still vividly recall that feeling of relief when he realised he could do business with this guy in the way he knew he couldn’t with the others.  They were drawn together like magnets, not only because there was an immediate physical attraction between them, there was a subtle, but powerful connection, too;  a connection of background and cultural understanding he knew the others were missing.

But Liam's so much his type it's almost ridiculous, ridiculous because up until Liam he'd never been attracted to a white guy, all his objects of desire strictly Asian or Arabic, but the minute he saw him all his bells started ringing like the entire _continent_ was ablaze and in danger of burning to the ground.

And then he'd seen that they understood each other on a whole other level, which made all the cells in his body start jumping; forming and reforming in what Zayn is sure must have been different configurations of Liam's name...

Since then no-one's had a look in, no-one else able to match Liam, since Liam is the template for all others – the prototype – and if you have the prototype why on earth would you look for any kind of  facsimile?

He's thought about explaining how he feels about Liam many times – to Louis, to others – but he can't, can only explain it to Danny.  Louis would listen, and most likely make fun, but only because he can't help himself, they both know when he's listening, taking him seriously.

But, really, it all boils down to the fact that he simply feels stupid trying to explain it in the words he really _wants_ to use.

He's written poems about Liam, penned a hundred songs dedicated to him, none of which he's ever shown him or ever will.  Even when you tell someone you love them, you use simple words, allow the words to stand in for the feeling, aware that the feeling is almost something _personal_ , only something that _you're_ supposed to be inside of – words standing in for what you can't possibly express.

When he kissed Liam for the first time he knew he'd never want anyone else.

It had been a like a thrumming in his head, persistent, ever present – wanting him, longing for him - but he hadn't seriously believed that he'd never want to be with anyone else.  He'd felt that desire for Liam, after all, yet slept with Louis and Harry, other guys, and had thought that that was just normal – to want one guy more than the other guys, but that once you had them the desperation would fade and you'd simply, naturally start looking again.

But the kiss had told him as clear as anything that his fate was sealed; that it was Liam all the way.

Of course there was a chance he'd meet some guy who'd eclipse Liam, but really, no chance at all.

He knew, in the same way he knew his own name, that the chances of ever getting that perfect match again verged on the truly astronomical.

It wasn’t Liam's looks; wasn't his sense of humour, his personality, his heart, his soul; the way he loved him back as hard as Zayn loved him.  No, it was something Zayn believed had been cooked up in some cosmic lab – just for him: a once in a lifetime cocktail designed specifically for _him_.

It wasn't about sex, wasn't about having a partner,  someone on 'your arm', it was about the fact that he was in love with Liam and Liam was in love with him, that they'd found in each other the perfect, perfect match.  Not that either of them was perfect or that they weren't still working on their relationship, but that there simply was no notion of there ever being anyone better for _either_ of them.

They knew this, knew that it was simply a case of making the relationship they had as good as it could be, not ever about thinking that anyone else would do.  It's why he trusted Liam, and Liam trusted him.  Either of them might stray – humans did that – but he didn’t fear Liam leaving him for anyone else.

And that's why they worked and worked on what they had, because as far they were concerned, it was for keeps, and they thus owed it to each other to make it the best it could possibly be.

“Oh here we go,” Louis mutters, pointedly _no_ t looking at the group of girls staring at them, giggling, hands covering their mouths.  Why did girls do that?  Did they fear that if they didn’t cover their mouths they'd expel some filth like a gaggle of Tourettes sufferers? 

“Just keep walking,” he suggests, eyes lowered.

They've been lucky, but neither of them expected their luck to hold for long.

Summer's a bad time, since they can’t mask up and escape attention _that_ way.  With their distinctive tattoos?  No chance!

Locally, it's okay – they're known and are old news now – so people actually say hello to him when they see him,  and they're not exactly interested in pop stars or any kind of celebrity, his neighbours, so it's only bad when they go into the more urban areas.

As they pass the girls, he hears one say: “Can I have your autograph, Zayn?” and he considers for a millisecond stopping and engaging with them, but one glance at Louis' face and he reconsiders.

“Bit busy, babe, but hello,”  and gives her a big smile in lieu of the autograph and the 3 minutes it would have taken to sign it.

Well, that's the good thing about being out with Louis: when you're with him, in stark contrast to Liam or Harry, politeness is not expected, so you get to escape these kind of encounters – for the most part.

Of course he doesn't mind taking selfies with them, signing things – but he has to be in the right mood, and there are times when he's completely switched off from 'pop star mode', which is when it becomes really, really annoying.

Whenever he's out with Liam he resents it like hell, since Liam somehow feels an obligation to be nice to their fans.

He appreciates the fans, but feels that a line has to be drawn – interfering with his free time with Liam is the line.

“Hope they don't follow us,” Louis says, under his breath and Zayn reflexively glances behind, just to check.

They're still giggling, the one to whom he spoke staring after him, wreathed in smiles, blushing with pleasure.

Well, at least he made her day, and maybe it wouldn’t have hurt to sign his name for her.  But you honestly had to get into the habit of saying no, otherwise it became impossible to do so with grace those times when it was absolutely essential – instance: whenever he was out and about with Liam.

_H_ e certainly had to be the one to say it – Liam would be there all fucking day if he didn't!

“Gotta phone Payno in a bit,” he says, trying for casual, but missing by a mile.  He doesn't need the grin on Louis' face to tell him – he knows; he always knows.

“He coming to mine later?”

“Nah, he's having tea at his mum's.”

“Nothing like tea at your mum's.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oi oi.”  Louis nudges him.  There are two young guys – about their age, exchanging words on the corner.  They're dressed casually, but expensively, and it's clear that though they're dressed as 'thugs' they wouldn't know a lyrical flow if it cartwheeled its way into their iPods.

Zayn glances briefly at Louis' face wondering what the deal is.  There's interest there, but he doesn't understand it – the guys are clearly having a lover's spat, but why that should interest them he has no idea...

“Do you know them?”

“I know the one in the black Adidas tee.  His mum and dad live a little way  up from me.  I see him around.”

Zayn glances from the guy back to Louis.  “And?”

Louis' shrug is casual.  “Just saying.”

Zayn also shrugs.  “Right,”  and continues walking.

Louis gets hold of his arm – subtle grab, meant to look causal.  “Hold up a minute,” he urges in a low voice.

“What?”

“Just slow it down a bit.”

As they near the figures one guy turns on his heel and walks away, the other guy staring after him, eyes sparking in fury.

A far as Zayn's concerned you just keep walking in situations like this, pretend you're deaf and blind...

“Alright mate?”

Zayn cannot believe... but of course he can!  Well, no choice but to stop and back him up. 

He fully expects the guy to tell them to take a running jump, but he looks at them and Zayn immediately clocks the recognition in his eyes.  “Hi.  You're from that group, aren't you?”

Zayn is constantly amazed at the utter predictability of guys – guys of a certain age and disposition.  They know fuck well who they are, but apparently it's uncool to actually be in a position to name the group they're in, and it's really uncool to not know them at _all_ , but no, you can know _of_ them, because you're abreast of current affairs, but not actually _know_ them because you're certainly not interested enough to actually learn their _name_...

“Hiya,” Louis says, holding out his hand.  “Louis.”

“Zayn.”

The guy smiles and takes his hand, holding on for just a beat too long. “Simon. You're not from round here, are you?”

“Actually, we are,” Louis says, deadpan.  “My house is just up there – at the top of the hill.”

“Oh, you live round here?”  He seems genuinely surprised.

“Couple years, now.  You?”

“No, I live in Lewisham.  But my mum and dad live pretty close to you actually, just over the way there.”  He turns and points.  He's slim and blonde, the cap covering his head not enough to hide the burnished gold of his hair.  

He's not Zayn's type and Louis doesn’t have a type...

When his phone rings he has to fight to conceal his relief.  “Sorry, gotta take this.”

He moves a little way away, turns his back on them.  “Hi babe.  I said I was gonna call later.”  He is pretending to admonish him, but that's hard to pull off when the smile on his face is threatening to split it open.

“Well, I missed you didn’t I?  You home?  Fancy some face time.”

“No, babe, I'm out with Tommo.”  He lowers his voice.  “He's chatting up some guy at the minute – some guy we just met on the street!”

There is a brief, disapproving silence.  “Where’s Harry?”

“Come on, man, you know how it is.  He's just chatting – don't get your knickers in a  twist.”

“But they’ve been getting on so well lately.”

“Babe, can we not?   Miss you, you know.”

“I've only been gone a few hours!”

“Well, you miss me too,” he protests.

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Just is.”

“You argue like a five year old!”

“And you argue like a high court judge.”

“They don't argue – they summarise and sum up.  Barristers argue.”

“See?  Case closed.”

“Now _you_ sound like a judge.”

“You're a bad influence on me , babe.”

He smiles, longing for him.  “When do you expect to get back?”

“Babe, mum wants me to stay the night.”  

Zayn can hear the apology in his voice and responds to that, rather than the  disappointment _he's_ feeling.   “No problem.  Probably better anyway.  Let her spoil you for a while.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more, babe.”

When he ends the call and turns back to Louis he sees that he and Simon are deep in conversation, comfortable and relaxed in his each other's presence.  Rolling  his eyes, he offers up a silent prayer that whatever Louis' got in mind for the evening doesn't involve him in anything but the most peripheral of ways.  He's not that accustomed to playing wingman for anyone but Niall, but since he knows Louis guesses that there could easily be a way he could end up getting a little more entangled than he'd otherwise choose to be.

Why isn't he at home, in his kitchen, cooking for Liam right now?

Such a simple fucking thing that all his fame and fortune can't grant him.

So really, then, what _is_ the fucking point?

 

**

 

“You're really gonna eat that – the whole fucking pie.”

He gives Danny the finger, crams another bite of pie into his mouth.

His pie, his mouth, his belly – his fucking prerogative.  Danny can take a running jump.

“Bro, slow down.  What’s different this time?  You know how it goes.”

Danny's sympathetic – ultimately – but he also has a fairly small store of patience when it comes to certain matters.

And Zayn doesn't want to hear it today. 

He waves a dismissive hand to indicate that he most certainly doesn't want to hear it, that Danny needs to go do something else, somewhere else.

And Danny of course understand this – just chooses to ignore it.  “You need your sleep, bro – you're down here smoking like a fucking chimney, stuffing yourself.  Come on, man, you need to fix up!  Anyone can tell you  need to fix up.”

He gives him the finger again, not even bothering to look at his friend.

“Zed, listen to me, man.  You know how you get when you let it get to you like that.”  He's keeping his distance, but Zayn can tell by his movements that he's struggling not to come closer, hug him, shake him, take the fucking pie from him? Either way Zayn's not interested.  “You're scaring me, man,”  and his voice is low, solemn – sincere – but Zayn has heard it all before, knows exactly how Danny plays him, gets him to 'stand down' - as he sees it.

Well, not tonight.

Danny can stand there watching him eat or go back to his own room, do his own fucking thing.

No skin off his nose either way.

The Mp3 player they keep in the kitchen is on, not blaring – it's past 1 in the morning – but loud enough to be reasonably satisfying to him in his current state, so it's only when they see Liam at the door that they realise he came in without them being aware.

He's removed his jacket and shoes, looks cold and tired.  “Hey, babe.”

“Liam! Babe!”  He abandons the pie and throws himself into Liam's arms.  “What you doing here?”  He kisses him, and runs excited hands through his hair, messing it even more than the wind has already done.

He hasn’t been drinking and Zayn's pleased; hates when he drives, hates even more when he does it after a drink or two.

Liam leans in for another kiss.  “Hmm, lemon meringue.” He glances over at the counter top.  “Got any more?  I'm starving!  Hi, bro.”  He gives Danny a smile and a casual fist bump.

“Nice to see you, man.”  He doesn't even bother to pretend he's not giving Zayn a _look_ when he says this.

The look doesn't go unnoticed, but Liam chooses to let it slide.  “I feel like it's been about 12 hours since I ate.”

“No worries, babe.  Sit down.  I'll make you something.”

There's a slightly awkward interlude where Danny hovers, clearly wanting to say something to Liam, and Zayn silently warns him to keep his mouth shut.

Liam is subdued, joining in with the banter, but with neither whole heart nor full attention.

“Babe, I was thinking.” He places a full plate before him.  “How about we go to one of those spas – one of the ones in the countryside.  Not for long, maybe a weekend or something.”

Liam greets this with a little less enthusiasm than Zayn anticipated.  “Not sure, babe.  Got commitments and that, and I'm not sure we'd be able to fit it in this fortnight.”  He picks up half of the sandwich.

“Doesn’t need to be this fortnight, babe – just something to consider.  We can do it any time, really – if it’s something we want to do.”  It's a question and there's a fair amount of relief when he gets a smile – genuine, unforced.

“I'm up for it, then, if you are.”  But the lion's share of his attention is bent on the sandwich in his hand and it's clearly only politeness keeping any of it on Zayn at all.   As he raises it to his mouth, Zayn leans in and kisses him on the right cheek, then again on the left, teasing.  “I really hope you're not asking for a bite – I am bloody starving!”

Zayn laughs, letting him off the hook.  “I can take the hint, don't worry - it's all yours.”

Danny's still hovering, watching the interplay between them.

Zayn ignores him.  “Wanna take that up with you, babe?”

“No, I'll finish it before coming up.  Don't worry about clearing away – I'll take care of it.”

“Don't worry, man – it's only a few plates.”  He stands for a moment, watching him eat.  “See you in a bit, babe.”

Liam nods vigorously, mouth occupied, and still amused, Zayn heads toward the door.

Danny isn't making a move, clearly planning to stay and keep Liam company, so Zayn takes him by the elbow and leads him out of the kitchen.

No call for anyone to say anything to anyone about _anything_.

No need for anything to be told to anyone about anyone acting out earlier.

No, there is nothing that anyone need know about any damn thing.

 

 

**

 

He's in the shower when he hears the sound of Liam's laughter in the hallway and his languid luxuriating swiftly becomes perfunctory and efficient cleansing, finishing up in record time.

As he makes to step out of the cubicle the door opens and Liam enters, pulling his t-shirt over his head.  “Uh-uh, no you don't.  Get back in.  I need you to scrub my back!”

“And what did your last slave die of?” he demands, but turns to depress the button that controls the water stream, all the same.

“Not sure – but he went out with a smile on his face, that much I do know.” He leans in to kiss his pout, careless of his hair as the water cascades around and over them. “Zayn, don't pull-”

“Well don't leave any guys with smiles on their faces then!” he counters, pulling him into the stream of water, praying he's removed his phone and wallet when he sees Liam's jeans turning from light to dark blue.  “You shouldn’t be leaving _any_ guys smiling.”

Liam grabs his buttocks, lifts him for a watery kiss.  “Can I help if people find me so lovable they can't help but smile whenever they see me?”

“Wear a mask.”

“But my winning personality, babe...”

“Can be downplayed if you never smile, or speak – or go out in public.”

Liam's holding his weight now and though Zayn knows it's hazardous no way he's going to suggest Liam put him down.  “You're a tyrant.  I ever tell you that?”

“All the fucking time, babe.”

“And I’m wasting my breath, right?”

“You need to get out of those.”

“You don't like me wet and helpless?”  He's kissing his neck – dry, precise little kisses that drive Zayn crazy.

“I do,” he says, tying to catch his breath.  “But naked, too -  that's a must.”

“Wet, naked, helpless.  I can do that...”

 

 

**

 

Liam's behind him, wrapped around him, tongue painting tiny, intricate patterns on his shoulder blade, upper back.

Sleepy, content, Zayn reaches back to stroke his thigh.

Liam's warm breath is at his ear.   He's singing: “So our mutual friend's told me you been wearing my red t-shirt – cos you can't stop missing me.”  He kisses him. “Well you should know by now I ain't doing much better cos I'm missing half of me.”

“And every hour without you is like I'm waking up to-”

“Only half a blue sky, kinda there but not quite.”

“Walking round with just one shoe.

“Half a heart without you, babe.”  Placing a gentle hand under his chin, he turns him.  “Why do you think I'm here?  I even went to my bed, but it wasn’t happening – missed you too much.  I got up – out of my warm bed – and drove here cos I had to, couldn’t spend it away from you.”  He  kisses him on the mouth.  “What are we like, babe?  Been thinking about you all day; couldn’t really enjoy myself properly.  Every time I wasn't yakking away to mum and that, I was thinking about you, thinking about calling you, wondering what you were doing, what you were thinking.”

“Me too,” he admits, making no attempt to deny the relief he feels on learning that Liam must have been experiencing at least some of what he'd been experiencing all day.  Didn’t feel _quite_ so pathetic now.  “Missed you like hell.”

“I know, me too.”  Liam takes his hand, placing a kiss on each knuckle.  “You know this spa, would we still be able to,  you now..?”  He makes a hand movement that Zayn assumes is meant to be indicative of sexual activity.  He considers teasing him, but in the end lets it go.

“It's a spa, babe, not bootcamp.  Never heard of sexual abstinence being part of the requirement for spending time at a spa.”

He can see the thoughts working behind Liam's eyes, but in the end he, too, decides to let it go.  “Good,” he says, pulling him fully into his arms.  “Cos I need my tings when I need my tings.  Ow!  Just sayin', babe.”  He's grinning as he kisses him, teasingly dropping his hands to cup his arse.  “Mmm, mmm.”

“Go to sleep.”

“In a bit.”  He leans in for a lingering kiss, playing with Zayn's lower lip, as his fingers trace patterns on his buttocks, the small of his back.  “You tired?”

“Can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Okay, I tell you what...”  He's manoeuvring them, rolling so that Zayn ends up beneath him.  “Close your eyes, get some shut-eye and I’ll keep myself occupied in the meantime.  Deal?”

“And you won't disturb me?”

“You won't even know I'm here.”

Zayn's trying but failing to keep a straight face.  “Good.  Well, goodnight then.”

“Night night, babe.”

He's lying on top of him, face so close that Zayn can feel each breath he takes as a gentle displacement of air, cool against his skin.  It's a struggle to keep his eyes closed, but this is new and a game he's enjoying.

He expects a kiss but instead it's the stroke of a finger across his left eyebrow, moving down his cheek to the corner of his mouth.  Now the kiss, so light it's barely there, making his mouth twitch in a reflexive quest for more.

Liam's beard is soft, but  prickles his skin as he moves to the other corner of Zayn's mouth before moving to his nose and then his right eyelid.

“Fast asleep, babe,” Zayn mutters, just to break the tension that's building, just so he doesn’t grab him and kiss him, touch him, love him into exhaustion...

“Oh I think part of you might be waking up.”  A slow grind of hips to confirm his observation.  “Yep, I think you might be awake, babe.”

“No, I'm not,” he denies, mouth forming a stubborn line. 

“Okay, let's see who's right,” he suggests, running his tongue slowly across the line of Zayn's closed mouth, retreating when Zayn instinctively opens up, invites him in. “No, I was wrong – you are asleep.  My bad.  Let's see what else...”  He rolls to one side, and it's all Zayn can do not to let his eyes shoot open in protest, grab him, pull him back. 

Liam's hand is in his hair, careless fingers carding through the thick strands and Zayn wants to make a sound – somewhere deep in his throat -  a sound that could best be likened to a satisfied purr.

The kiss at his neck, along with the corresponding tightening of the fingers in his hair takes him completely by surprise, and the sound he does make is nothing like a purr, more like the deep, guttural roar of an aroused lion.

Liam takes his mouth in a deeply possessive kiss, claiming it with his tongue.  Zayn puts an arm around him and pulls him back on top, using his legs to hold him should he dare try moving again.  “You're not very good at this,” he whispers into his mouth.

“Aren't I?”

“No – you said you wouldn't disturb me and look.”  He rubs himself against Liam's groin, fingers locked and intertwined at the nape of his neck, ankles locked across his hips.

“I don't think you’re sleeping, babe,” he says drily, kissing Zayn's neck, upper chest, nipple, moving slowly downward.

“I'm not,” he confesses, grabbing his hair.

 

**

 

When he wakes, Liam's gone, and for a moment he feels bereft until he sees his phone on the table, hears his laughing voice outside.

His smile on hearing that, on realising that he still has hours with him is one he hopes no-one ever gets to see, since if they hadn’t known _before_ he was completely besotted that surely would have given the game away.

He rolls on to his back, hands behind his head, and waits for Liam to come to him.  Knowing him it'll be with breakfast on a tray, and a quip about Zayn's voracious appetite.

Smiling, he gets ready to assure him that his appetite might be voracious, but  wholly _discriminating_ ; that there is only one flavour it craves and that he'd better get used to it never tiring of that flavour.

 

 

 


End file.
